


Stand Tall Sam

by PennySerenade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotionally Hurt Sam, Gen, Hurt Dean, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester is confusing, POV Outsider, Parent John Winchester, Protective Dean, Sam Angst, Sam Is So Done, Weechesters, leaving the nest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennySerenade/pseuds/PennySerenade
Summary: Sam is restless. Dean can only watch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Views both Sam, Dean, and John's thought process.

Walking a few feet behind his dad and Dean, it was easy to feel miles away despite the short distance. And Sam felt small. Not just metaphorically speaking – though that was part of it as well.

Close to nineteen, Dean stood head to head with John. The lines of their broad backs tracing a history of warfare. It was a minefield that Sam was struggling to keep up with.

At fourteen-years-old, Sam was scrawny. In the numerous schools he’s been to, he usually stands as one of the shortest guys in class. Did he actually belong to this family of giant superheroes? Sam couldn’t help but admire and resent them at the same time.

Talking hurriedly, Dean and his dad were speaking their own language in front of him. All logic and strategy compared to the different, warmer dialect that Sam and Dean shared when they were alone. Sometimes he had trouble determining if his brother was John’s Dean or Sam’s Dean? The stern soldier that only cared about the next case, or the goofy idiot that poured cold water in his showers? The same one who couldn’t hide a smile when they snuck off to light fireworks the past fourth of July. Sam was almost positive he belonged to him more than John.

Yet, it was times like this when their obvious differences swallowed him whole. Sam had always felt separate, balancing the edge of a normal life and the supernatural. While Dean passionately embraced the road to monsters. For some reason Sam couldn’t do the same. He tried so hard to belong in the wholesome, cookie cutter lifestyle.

 _“Someday, someday I will,”_ Sam told himself.

He didn’t realize that he couldn’t fully open his arms to the supernatural like Dean because he was unknowingly trying to outrun himself; what was born inside him will never allow him to attain the “normal.” Sam had yet to see this but he still felt the unidentifiable frustration. It carried over in several outlets – one of them was his sense of inadequacy.

They parked the Impala in the seedy parking lot of the motel. Their room was like all the others before it; cramped and sort of dusty.

“Boys, move the table and chairs outta the way,” John asked.

He wanted to finish a lesson on incapacitating vampires through their weak spots.

Dean’s movements were effortless. Sam usually took two or three attempts to get it right. 

“Nice work son,” John commented. “But don’t forget to check your sidelines, remember vamps don’t run alone.”

“Got it,” Dean dutifully responded, smiling at the thought. Winchesters don’t run alone either.

John looked up at the table now in the far corner, to see his youngest son had moved with it. He's bent over one of their new lore books. It had become a usual occurrence for Sam to be studying the contents of these archives. John wasn’t surprised, considering how much time the kid spent reading school books.

“You’re supposed to be watching.” He turned his attention to the boy.

According to John, if you’re not practicing then you should be observing for potential mistakes. The play-by-play.

“I’m reading.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” John’s voice rose. “This takes precedence.”

Sam looks quickly up from his book. “Why? What if it’s helpful down the road?”

“Answers don't always show up in a book. Then you’re gonna have go out and find it for yourself."

“That’s not what Uncle Bobby says,” Sam challenged.

John narrows his eyes. It would be too easy to say that his reoccurring stubbornness was just a teenage phase. But he knows this isn’t the only reason. That this had progressively become a part of his child’s character.

He steps closer. “How about you mind what I say instead?”

Sam looks back down, deflating a little.

“Or would you rather I give you laps to run instead of watching?”

Sam doesn’t know why, but he feels like there may be tears stinging at his eyes. Why won’t these strange feelings go away? Breathing in the same room with his Dad felt like there was no air to inhale. Nowhere to stretch out in their cramped and crowded four-wall-cell.

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon guys, you’re both just pissed cause we haven’t eaten all day.”

And leave it to Dean to diffuse every situation.                   

Sam watches his dad look back over at his brother - did his gaze get softer? Why couldn’t he be like Dean? Effortless and genuine through it all. And big. Larger than life really. Everything Sam did felt too calculated, too much. Trying too hard. Too small.

“How about I run to the diner down the road? I’ll be back in a bit.” John is already on his way out of the door.

The clock ticks noisily in the background.

 _I don’t think so,_ Dean inwardly muses. He’s never one to be ignored, especially not by Sammy. Shuffling towards his moody little brother he takes a seat on the adjacent bed.

“What’s with the stick up your butt?” he questions jokingly. 

“Why do you think I’m the one being an asshole?”

“You just seem off is all,” Dean tries to explain.

“Why cant you ever be on my side?” Sam’s asks, his voice cracking.

Now that surprised him. Dean's number one concern ninety-nine percent of the time is Sam (well maybe ninety-eight percent... depending on monsters and girls). There’s no way the kid doesn’t know that. Something else must be eating away at him.

“I’m always on your side Sammy,” he says as sincerely as possible.

And Sam’s anger melts a bit at this reassurance. Even if their life never made any sense to him, his big brother was here - and that made sense. 

* * *

 

It’s when Sam gets tall that being defiant comes more easily.

John was expecting his youngest son to catch up in height soon enough. The men on his side of the family were averagely tall. Mary’s dad was tall enough too. Yet, there was that time when he met some cousins of Mary. Grasped one of their giant hands and it felt like shaking a bear paw. Their heads ducking down as they entered the doorway.

Looks like where Sam is headed.

By 16 years old he had moved up to Dean’s height. John still chuckles at the memory of Sam’s relieved face when he made note of it.

But it didn’t stop there. Suddenly Sam got big, maybe too big. Because adjusting to his new body came with clumsy moments. He was often apologizing for knocking over objects around him – sometimes _important_ objects.

“ _Shit_ , you trying to get me killed?” Dean asked, exasperated after one of their hunts.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized for the third time. Well he did want to get tall – but this was starting to get ridiculous.

“It’s alright Sam. We just gotta adjust your training a bit, then you’ll know how to use that new strength. Right?” says John. 

“I guess,” he responds, his voice is void of enthusiasm.

If he was Dean it would have been, _“Yes, sir.”_

John is a little worried. It’s difficult reprimanding a growing man, especially when you’re forced to look up at them to do it. He often sees the conflict in Sam’s face - wondering if he should take his dad’s lectures this time or prove himself. His mouth a tight line, arms crossed. It was concerning. 

Now a senior, Sam had outgrown all the attire they own. To the point where a trip to a department store was actually scheduled. They were accustomed to buying gear and equipment. But for so long now they had simply rotated casual clothing between one another; t-shirts, jeans, jackets. Now shirts rode up revealing Sam’s stomach, stretching awkwardly against the width of his shoulders. Hell, even the socks didn’t fit him quite right.

“I don’t need a babysitter Dean,” Sam protests, as his brother picked out clothes from the racks of the sale section.

“You don’t know your head from your ass, how are you gonna pick an outfit chicks will dig?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” he sighs, going down the aisle and grabbing several generic flannels.

“Don’t forget undies Sam,” Dean calls out loudly.

“You Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

* * *

 

Sam took a breath before he turned the corner, to where the impala was parked on the side of a forest. He knew they’d be there from the numerous and increasingly angry voicemails John had left on his phone.

He saw Dean’s relieved face first, as his brother put an hand on their Dad’s shoulders. It’s a futile attempt to stop him because it ends the same always - with Dad just beginning his rant.

“Where the hell have you been!” John exercises the syllable of each word.

“I already told you,” Sam tiredly explains.

“So you blew us off for some test?”

“Dad it’s the SATS.” He couldn’t help the whine that accompanied his complaint. 

Unlike other teenagers, it’s school work that he and his dad disagree over.

It didn’t look like his answer landed. “They’re really, really important.”

“No, no this was important. Because it was real life. Real life, where we needed another man on the job. We needed you to be here,” exclaimed John.

These rebuttals have been a common theme over the past few years. When Sam claims something is important, John has something twice as important on the agenda.

Sam felt an icy uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. It was a conversation steadily brewing – one that would eventually lead to an eruption. He knew that his Dad was ignoring the obvious; there was a calendar date with his name on it. School was already waiting for him, the far green pastures that he sometimes saw amongst the mud and the guts and the blood.

Unfortunately, Dean knew it too. Maybe he didn’t want to say it out loud, but the second feeling that came after pride over Sammy’s good grades was anxiety. Growing up, Dean had been the type to hang all the A’s Sam got on the fridge (if they had a fridge at the time). Yet, when he took a double look at them he couldn’t help but question what it meant. What was Sam seeing when took those tests and wrote those long papers? Now he sees. He wasn’t just trying to pass; Sammy was trying to go somewhere.  

Somewhere that Dean didn’t belong.

These are the moments when he wished Sam would stop getting so tall. Stop transforming into a foreign man, shedding all the boyhood skin Dean had raised up from the ground.

He tried to remember what he himself was like at seventeen-years-old, but it was mostly lost in Sam. The surrogate kid he had parented his whole life. All Dean wanted was a family, for them to stay together. Now he sees that Sam is a different seventeen; one that wants to run. To run fast and far where they couldn’t find him.

“Look guys, it’s over and done with now. Can we _please_  just get outta here?” Dean shakes his head at the irony that he’s attained the role of mediator to his dysfunctional family. Him. As if he's the functional one. That's a laugh.

“I told you this morning that there was a strong possibility of landing our lead, you were supposed to keep the phone on!” John shouts. “Isn’t that why I gave it to you?”  

Admittedly, Sam saw the first voicemail before he went into the testing room. But he had never studied harder than these past two weeks.

When’s the next time he’d get another chance to sign up for the test? He was already almost done with half of the first semester of school, then it would be time to apply for college. It was his last chance. He needed whatever chance possible to get a scholarship. It’s not like Sam had anything else to add to his resume – no activities, clubs, or jobs. Just a strange transcript of a hundred different schools. Luckily all with high grades. And maybe an interesting personal statement. 

John storms off into the Impala, leaving the two brothers in the dusky darkness.

Sam looks up at his brother. Mystery blood dripping down his neck – unanswered whose fluid it belonged to.

“It’s okay.” Dean automatically steps in. “You know him,” dismissing their father with a wave of his hand.

“Yeah I do,” states a bitter Sam. 

“Sammy.”

That one word loaded with as much comfort as possible. It made something happy bubble up inside of Sam. Even though he occasionally complains when Dean calls him by the childhood nickname.

“I uh, think I scored pretty high." He’s sharing before he can stop himself. Who else could he have told the news?

“Duh,” Dean says, with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

 

It’s months later when they stand at their crossroads.

Literally in the middle of the street, their roads leading to different pathways.

Sam had hidden his acceptance admission from Stanford. It was his top pick, with a special scholarship selection that required him to arrive for part of the summer to work – given to those who had absolutely no money to provide for tuition. That was Sam.

Now he’s listening to his dad’s outburst, after revealing he would be leaving for school in a week. 

“We’re _this_ close to finding the son of bitch who killed your Mother. And you’re just gonna walk away?” seethes John.

“I’ll be back soon Dad,” he states.

It wasn't likely true though. Sam’s gut twisted at the lie.

John laughs, “California? You’ll just pop in and out during school breaks, see what hunts we’ve cooked up?”

“Why not? It works for other hunters. There not always together.”

“See us.” John gestures to the air around them. “It’s the team we’ve essentially had for the past 8 years. If we throw off that dynamic, we’ll be set back miles trying to figure out a new one. And you know what that does to cases! Yellow Eyes will slip right through our fingers.”

“Dad.” Sam stonily shakes his head.

There’s a deep pause.

John senses that his youngest son won’t budge.

No not this time.

“You’d do that to your own Mother, you selfish prick?”

“Do you really think she wouldn’t have wanted me to go to school? Did _you_ even know her?”

John grabs Sam’s jacket, pulling him close. It’s no easy feat moving his tree of a son.

Sam just stares down at him passively, content to not even give a speck of reaction. How did John miss all the restlessness that lays underneath his boy’s surface? Dean must have seen it. Why didn’t he tell him?

But it's something John refuses to wrap his head around, because how could Sam do this to him? _To_ _her_. 

She always did come first. 

“If you leave now, then don’t come back.”

Sam simply pushes his weight off John.

“Fine.”

He turns with a burning throat and stinging eyes, to head down the road, grabbing his bag out of the Impala. John’s already walking towards the opposite road, to clear his head and his heart. 

Dean had sauntered off to the side. The sidelines are an easier place to stand when the planets are colliding. 

He didn’t intervene this time. No not this time. The inevitable waits for no one.

“I’m sorry man.”

Dean looks up at his younger brother's apologetic face. Big and twitchy and brilliant and moody and so… Sam.

He hasn’t known a life without him. Who’s he supposed to take care of now?

 _‘Could always get a dog, name his Sam,’_ Dean inwardly laughs at this humorless moment.

“You really going?” he can’t help but ask.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going.”

“Gotta place to stay?” Dean's voice breaks a little.

Sam smiles halfheartedly. “I’ll figure it out.”

Guess he can’t blame the kid for using what they taught him; faking credit cards and breaking in entering have accompanied a long list of skill sets.

They both hated the divide, the awkward middle between the two that didn’t use to be so palpable. But time equals space.

Doesn’t it?

“I couldn’t have gotten here without you Dean.”

“And… and this is where you want to be?”

“Yes,” Sam immediately answers, with no hesitation.

That hurts Dean worst of all.

Nodding, he reaches out for that bratty kid. But chick flick moments never last long.

Sam’s walking briskly into the night, with that stupid one shoulder backpack thing he constantly has going on. Even though Dean told repeatedly told him growing up, _“you’ll get scoliosis, idiot.”_

A lurching stomach ache overcomes him as he's forced to view his little brother move farther and farther with the passing distance. He watches the lines of his back moving steadily away (just like Sam used to watch him), away from him and their whole history.

 

When did Sam get so tall? 


End file.
